


Drown With Me

by thymelord



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Incest, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Older Man/Younger Man, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymelord/pseuds/thymelord
Summary: Dirk's little brother is the most fucked up person he's ever known, which is saying something when you consider how fucked upheis. But Dirk still loves him, and Dave loves him too.Perhaps a little too much.
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Dave Strider, Dirk Strider/Dave Strider, Stridercest
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	Drown With Me

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn’t gonna write this but I can’t get it out of my head
> 
> judging by a) the amount of stridercest I’ve been writing recently and b) the state of this particular stridercest, THE QUARANTINE HAS LITERALLY DRIVEN ME INSANE. you’re motherFUCKIN welcome I guess

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Nothing is supposed to be this way.

Dirk Strider looks up at the clock with bleary eyes, and sees nothing. He takes his sunglasses off, rubs them, and squints. It is 4a.m, and there is nothing else to do but to look backwards and fall into his memories until he drowns.

Dirk had grown up shunted from foster home to care home to another foster home then back, a childhood and adolescence ever in flux, nothing stable to rely on. When he was nineteen, the government had tracked him down and presented a squalling infant to him, and he was informed that he was the child’s next of kin. His first instinct was to refuse, but he has never known his own blood. Now, faced with a relative – his brother – could he really consign him to the life Dirk had lived, and despised?

He took the child.

Dave was fractious, but that wasn’t surprising; all children were, except for those who were too afraid to be – and although Dirk would hardly win the guardian of the year award, he was not the sort to instil that type of fear in a child. Maybe he would have, if he’d known. But then, he’d just blame himself.

Or rather, blame himself more than he already did.

His mind always oscillates – is it his fault, or was there something inherent in Dave? Was this nature, or nurture?

But surely, he thinks, surely it can’t be the latter; yes, Dirk was fucked up, but he wasn’t that fucked up.

Was he?

The door clicks open, and Dirk’s entire body stiffens. He glances at the clock. 4:13a.m. Dave walks into the main room, drops his keys on the kitchenette counter, and glances towards Dirk. His elder brother is sat up on the futon rigidly, as though his spine has been transformed into an iron rod. Dave wears black for camouflage, but bloodstains show up even on the darkest of fabrics, and he calmly strips, throwing his clothes into a tub of bleach that Dirk had prepared for him.

“Kind of you to wait up,” says Dave.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Dirk bites out. He never can on nights like these.

Dave makes a noncommittal hum and walks out the room, wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxers that do nothing to hide his erection. He always comes back like this, which sent shivers of horror down Dirk’s spine – as well as something else that he dared not name.

He hears the shower turn on, and lets out a long but quiet breath. Dirk hates how he can’t sleep until Dave comes back; how he can’t sleep until he knows Dave is safe. After everything, he wants – needs – him to be safe.

~

It had begun when Dave was two weeks shy of his fifteenth birthday.

There hadn’t been any particular warning sign. Yeah, the kid had a manipulative streak, but so did a lot of people. So did Dirk.

Although, if Dirk is to be honest, he doesn’t really know what the warning signs for something like that would be, save for maiming small animals, and Dave had never done that. He was the sort to kill a spider rather than capture it and take it outside, but so was half the population. He wasn’t the sort to torture insects for the sadism of it, let alone mice or cats or whatever the fuck. He wasn’t a particular fan of animals, but neither did he hurt them; he was, at most, indifferent. He didn’t even really get into trouble with the law, except from shit like weed and underage drinking, and who the fuck cared about that?

Well, Dirk should, probably. But Dave smoked joints rarely, and only ever had a couple of beers at a time, so he figured, what was the harm?

(He had done research after everything had gone done to see if underage drinking and marijuana smoking can turn you into a psychopath, but apparently it didn’t. Apparently, psychopathy was present since birth; that still meant that Dirk blamed himself, thinking it had been his tainted genes. Never mind that that didn’t make any sense, Dirk still couldn’t disavow himself of the notion.)

Dave had come home late, around nine o’ clock, wearing the Matrix-style leather trenchcoat that he’d insisted Dirk buy for him ‘ironically’ one Christmas. Coupled with the sunglasses he always wore, he looked exactly like a juvenile blond Neo, although the clothes he was wearing under it were most suited to Trinity. A skin-tight black vinyl shirt, pleather slim-fit pants, patent leather boots. He should have stood out, but Dave always had a knack for blending in, and when the sun went down he could become part of the shadows if his hood hid his bright hair.

He’d dropped a pair of dripping shurikens onto the kitchen table, and said in a voice so calm Dirk couldn’t help but be impressed, “Got any bleach?”

Dirk, as though in a dream, replied “I’ve got the DVD box set somewhere, yeah.”

Dave pulled off his glasses so he could bat his eyelashes at his brother, and then pulled a bottle of Clorox from the cabinet under the sink, begloved hands leaving crimson smears over the stark white plywood.

Dirk remained silent, afraid to know and afraid of him, waiting for Dave to offer some sort of explanation.

He didn’t.

Not until the second time.

~

The next time is less than a week later, which immediately sets Dirk on edge. Dave likes to leave weeks, usually months between sessions, all the better to keep the cops off his trail. Dirk doesn’t know what’s behind this escalation, and he tenses as Dave enters the apartment. Tonight he’s updated his look with a crimson satin mask, something that looks like a fetish version of a surgical mask, no doubt as an ironic commentary on the COVID-19 outbreak. Of course he isn’t actually worried about it: Dave believes he’s invincible, and Dirk has the nagging suspicion that he might just be right.

“You shouldn’t be going out during a worldwide pandemic,” says Dirk.

One of Dave’s eyebrows appears from above his glasses. “As opposed to a non-worldwide pandemic?”

Dirk scoffs, but says nothing as he watches Dave begin his post-murder ritual. The muffled rush of the shower lulls him to sleep, and he’s just about to drift off when Dave comes into the room. He’s not sure he he knows; his eyes were closed and Dave doesn’t make a noise. Perhaps It’s the smallest eddy of air, or perhaps Dirk is just that attuned to him by now.

Dirk slowly opens his eyes to see Dave standing over him. His hair is wet, transforming it from a pale flaxen to a deep honey-gold. He was wearing nothing but an absurdly small towel around his hips, not even his sunglasses. He sidles next to Dirk, a saccharine smile on his face.

“I’m feelin’ talkative tonight.” Dave props Dirk into a sitting position, and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Wanna tell you what sorta shenanigans I got up to tonight.”

Dirk swallows audibly. “You shouldn’t have gone out again so soon. You’ll get the cops after you.”

“It’s nice of you to worry, big bro, but I know what I’m doing.” He plants a quick kiss on Dirk’s cheek, and he freezes in surprise. Even without his sunglasses Dirk was excellent at hiding his emotions, but Dave had learned to read him like a damn book, and he smirks slightly as he notices Dirk’s discomfort. He leans in, kissing his cheek again, this time letting his lips linger, before trailing to his ear. “You never ask me about what I do,” whispers Dave, breath tickling Dirk’s skin. “Are you squeamish?”

“No.” It wasn’t a lie, he wasn’t, he’d just rather not listen to his younger brother’s anecdotes about how he mutilated and murdered someone.

Dave hums against him, the vibrations going through him like an electric shock. “I’ve been so worked up lately,” he murmurs. “Needed to get that energy out. Needed catharsis. The thrill of the chase, of the look of terror when you finally catch up with them, and the sheer gorgeous fuckin’ irony of watching someone’s lifeblood drain from a wound made by a shitty sword. Those motherfuckers still have a bite to them if you jab them hard enough here.” Dave’s finger circles the soft hollow of Dirk’s throat, and feels him swallow.

“Sword?” croaks Dirk, and he coughs, trying to play his tone off as a blocked throat rather than fear.

“Yeah. Shitty shurikens are great, but sometimes you just need to switch it up a lil. It’s riskier, but hey, what can I say? I’m a fuckin’ adrenaline junkie.”

“You still should be careful,” says Dirk.

“I know, I know, you can’t bear life without me. I don’t blame you.” Dave’s fingers are still at Dirk’s throat, delicately tracing his tendons. He dips his head, lightly touching the tip of his tongue to a point on Dirk’s throat, and he flinches in surprise. “You’d bleed out in less than five minutes if I cut deep enough right here,” Dave murmurs against his skin, and feels Dirk shiver. “I’ve thought about it. Imagined what it would be like. But I think I’d regret it.”

“Is that what you did to that guy tonight?” says Dirk, so quiet that Dave wouldn’t have heard had he not been practically flush against him. “Slit his throat?”

“Too boring,” whispers Dave. “I cut out his heart.” He lets out a small sigh, and shifts. The towel drops from one side, exposing his hip. Dirk’s eyes flick down to it, tracing the curve of his hipbone before snapping his eyes back up to Dave’s face. Suddenly Dave jerks forward, towel dropping completely, and kisses Dirk hard, straddling his hips. Dirk makes a muffled gasp, and shoves Dave away. Dave tilts backwards to look at him, but remains pinning him down, his cock standing hard and proud against his stomach.

“What the fuck?” gasps Dirk. “You think because you’ve committed murder you can commit every other sin because eh, you might as well?”

“Sin?” repeats Dave. “You a born-again Christian, bro?”

“No, but I’m Texan. Sometimes I slip and say things like that. Look, Dave –“

“Shouldn’t have asked me,” says Dave rocking his hips against Dirk’s groin. “Shouldn’t have asked me about what I did tonight. Look what you’ve done to me.”

“And now you’re gonna fuck me, your _brother,_ because there’s no one else?”

“No, I’m gonna fuck you because I’ve wanted to fuck you for years.” Dave presses down again, smirking. “And I think you have, too. You’re hard.”

“Simple physiological reaction,” says Dirk.

“Li-iar!” Dave sing-songs, and kisses him again. Dirk resists for a moment, and then responds, mouth moving against his. Dirk’s not wearing much but an oversized Rainbow Dash tee and a pair of boxers, which takes no time at all for Dave to get rid of. His lips brush down the trail of hair that connect Dirk’s navel to his groin.

“Stop,” breathes Dirk.

Dave spat into his hand and wraps it around Dirk’s erection. “Are you sure?”

“You’re my little brother,” says Dirk. “I fucking raised you for God’s sake, I can’t –“

“I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions.” He lets go of Dirk and gives him a knowing look when he makes a small noise of frustration. “Why are you so scared to admit it?”

“You’re my brother, I’m two decades older than you, you’re a murderer –“

“Ah, there’s the crux of it, isn’t it?” From under the futon, Dave produces a butterfly knife and Dirk jerks back against the wall in shock. He opens it and trails the blade extremely lightly down Dirk’s throat, light enough that if Dirk closed his eyes it could be a feather. “You’re disgusted by me.” Dave cocks his head, regarding him. “Or maybe you’re not. Maybe _that’s_ the problem.” He trails a finger down Dirk’s shaft, causing his lips to tremble. “You’re afraid, and it turns you on.” The blade flicks across the skin on Dirk’s hip, the cut as shallow as possible while still drawing blood.

“What the fuck!” shouts Dirk, and Dave laughs, touching his fingertip to Dirk’s glans. He pulls it away slowly, watching the string of pre-cum connecting them before placing it slowly between Dirk’s lips. 

“You hate that you’re turned on,” Dave murmurs. “But you _are.”_ He reaches below the futon again, producing a small bottle of lube, and Dirk laughs despite himself.

“How many fuckin’ things do you have hidden under there?” he says, and then yelps when a cold drop of lube lands on his cock, whimpering as Dave slicks him up, hovering over him.

“Aren’t you going to prep yourself?” breathes Dirk.

“What’s the point of sex without a little bit of pain?” asks Dave, and sinks down on Dirk’s cock. Dirk’s mouth falls open, and a strangled gasp escapes him as Dave presses down on his throat. Dave feels impossibly, deliriously good, and the cutting off of his oxygen only brings him higher. Just when he thinks he’s about to black out, Dave removes his hand.

“ _Fuck,”_ Dirk gasps. “Dave – Dave, I can’t – I’m going to-” His pleasure crests, hands digging onto Dave’s hips. Dave pulls off him, translucent white liquid dripping from him, and Dirk catches his breath, another wave of lust going through him. Dave grabs the lube again, and a second later Dirk feels a slick finger enter him. His eyes widen with shock.

“I’m too sensitive,” says Dirk, voice weak. “Please, Dave, I can’t…”

Dave shushes him gently, crooking his finger inside him and causing him to cry out. When Dave is satisfied with his prep, he hitches Dirk’s legs further upwards and pushing into him. Despite himself, Dirk feels his cock begin to stir again, all the nerves in his body feeling raw and overstimulated. Dave’s surprisingly tender at first, making slow and shallow thrusts to get Dirk accustomed to his substantial girth, but then he retrieved the butterfly knife from the side of the futon. He holds the blade lightly against Dirk’s throat, watching his lips part and feeling his cock grow to full hardness against him.

“God, you love it, don’t you,” crows Dave. Dirk is about to nod in response, but then remembers that gesture holds a rather high risk of getting his throat accidentally cut.

“Yes,” breathes Dirk. “You fuckin’ terrify me, and it makes me want you to wreck me.”

Dave gives a wicked little smile, and gives him another shallow cut, this time on his thigh. Dirk whines, hips jerking forward. Dave’s breathing turns ragged, and he fucks Dirk harder, all but slamming him into the futon. His hand curls around Dirk’s cock, and they finish within seconds of each other, Dave grabbing his hair and pulling him upwards so he could kiss him as they came.

Dirk collapsed onto the futon, panting. Dave curls around him, clutching Dirk towards him.

And then Dirk surprises both of them by saying something he’s never said before.

“I love you.”

And he realises that it’s true. He shouldn’t love Dave, certainly not in the way he does. The dude has been going on intermittent killing sprees for over five years; he should be turning him into the police, not fucking him or wanting to protect him.

Dave gives him a chaste kiss, and Dirk blinks in surprise. He hadn’t thought the word _chaste_ was in Dave’s vocabulary.

“I love you too, big bro,” Dave says, and Dirk can’t tell if he’s being ironic or not.

And he’s too afraid to ask.


End file.
